Darkened Hearts
by Life's scar
Summary: John’s hands moved through Dean’s soft brown strands, moving the bangs away from the young boy’s forehead, his fingers careful not to press against any of the bruises that littered the right side of Dean’s face. Sam laid in a tight ball next to Dean his s
1. Chapter 1

Title: Darkened Hearts

Rating: Pg-13

Genre: Gen/AU

Beta: Jelliclefreak

Disclaimer: Everyone belongs to their creators. Yep.

Summary: John's hands moved through Dean's soft brown strands, moving the bangs away from the young boy's forehead, his fingers careful not to press against any of the bruises that littered the right side of Dean's face. Sam laid in a tight ball next to Dean; his small hands clenching his brother's arm tightly.

Word Count: 1856

John's hands moved through Dean's soft brown strands, moving the bangs away from the young boy's forehead, his fingers careful not to press against any of the bruises that littered the right side of Dean's face. Sam laid in a tight ball next to Dean; his small hands clenching his brother's arm tightly.

He could remember when the two of them were still little; Dean holding Sam's small, choppy hands as he instructed his little brother on how to walk. The smile on the chubby face when Dean would tell him _good job _ was forever burned into John's mind, a memory that could easily get him through his rough times.

There used to be so much life in his boys.

The first time he had left his son's with his brother was only a temporary arrangement. He was going to meet Caleb after Missouri had directed him to the man. He had only been gone a few days, long enough to drive the distance, get information and answers then drive back.

The second time he met Caleb, the man had given him a lead on something that might point him to Mary's murderer. He had been gone a week at the very shortest, probably much longer than that but time seemed to merge together and erase the lines of night and day, especially back in those days where nothing was clear except for Mary and his boys.

His boys.

For the briefest of moments his hand tightened into a fist in Dean's hair, pulling at the strands only to stop when he heard the small whimper escape from his sleeping son. His son who should still, rightfully, be a toddler. He had missed so much time with them; wasted that time away. Dean was a teenager now, just a few inches shorter than John himself. His body was well toned, ready for any fight that came his way… and anger had left its permanent stain on his now cold green eyes.

It had been maybe a year worth of an off and on again relationship with his sons when his brother's wife had asked if he would sign over temporary guardianship of the two over to them. She had asked in a soft voice that had reminded him completely of Mary when she would bring up topics that he wouldn't likely agree on. It had brought tears to his eyes as she continued on that it wasn't adoption, nowhere close to it, just gave them permission to bring them to the doctor, put Dean into school next year, let them play sports.

Of course there had been some anger in his body at that time, who had she thought she was to suggest such a thing? But somewhere between her explaining why it was a good idea and walking into the room to be greeted with the scene of Joanne playing with his two boys, trying to make a pet doggy out of the play dough for Dean's ball of a man and trying to keep Sammy from putting the pretty green dough in his mouth, he realized that this just might be a good place for the two.

He knew Mary would approve, knew that for a fact from the bottom of his heart. She had considered Joanne the next best thing to a sister. The only thing holding him back was the fact that he wouldn't be near his boys.

Then again, he had only been with them a total of two months out of twelve so was it anything different? He had already missed Sammy's first steps, it seemed a bit early to him for Sam to start walking, but Dean had been so proud, pulling John around and trying to convince Sammy to do it again. Who, of course, stubbornly stayed planted on his butt or hands for anyone but Dean.

Most of the time, when he was in town, he would sleep in the same house as his boys but some nights, like the night after Joanna had pleaded her case to him, he would stay at some seedy motel near them just long enough to clear his mind. It was his escape when he'd hear stories of missed moments in his son's lives like little baby Sammy actually calling Joanna _Mama_ or when Dean had given the little girl next door a bundle of flowers. When he came back to their house, he was greeted with the sight of Mark trying to teach Dean how to shoot a basketball correctly, his big hands covering Dean's as he explained how he should aim patiently.

He signed the papers soon after that morning.

Now, now he regretted the decision to sign those papers. As long as Joanna had been alive it had been worth it, seeing smiles on both of their faces when he came home to visit. John wasn't so sure the smiles would be there had they come along for the ride. But, to a man who was obsessed with the supernatural, he had never considered the natural things that took lives to be dangerous.

---

_An eleven year old boy with dusty blond hair ran through the brightly lit house; his backpack was resting by the front door, completely forgotten about in his haste. The smile that had been permanently planted on his face today had fallen for only the briefest second when he hadn't smelt the familiar smell of a just baked cake but that could just mean Joanna had baked it earlier and the smell had left with the hot air out the windows._

_He was up the stairs and almost to her bedroom before he noticed that the house was completely silent. It had never been quiet; there wasn't a time that his young mind could remember where there was no music playing or the sound of a TV echoing through the walls. Not even the sound of talking or laughter._

_Completely silent._

_His feet slowed down, trying to figure out if the house was empty. He knew he was suppose to have waited at the school to be picked up but he had gotten bored waiting for someone to drive by; Sammy had stayed home sick and there was nothing there to occupy his brain. He always hated waiting for that old pickup to drive up in front of the school when Sam had come down with something or other._

_Sammy was always sick lately, puppy dog eyes convincing Joanna to let him stay home for the day so he could get babied to his little heart's delight. He wondered how Sammy managed to do it every time because when Dean would get home he would be instantly well, jumping around and trying to convince Joanna that he was feeling good enough to horse play with Dean… and she would laugh as Dean tried to tell Sammy that he couldn't get sicker._

_He had gotten tired of waiting so he had walked home, very careful of crossing the busy intersection. He felt proud of the fact that he'd only gotten honked at once and that was because the man was running a red light. Uncle Mark always complained when people did that. He wasn't sure why Mark had been late to get him, didn't want to think on it really. The only time his uncle was ever late picking him up from school was when he would take Sammy to the doctor. _

"_Sammy?" He called out quietly, eyes darting around the hallway to his brother's bedroom door, expecting for the little boy to come bounding out instantly._

_Instead, after he took a few more steps towards the closed door, his brother who was usually full of energy came running out of their uncle's room, tears pouring from his eyes. Tiny little arms wrapped around Dean's thin waist, squeezing the air out of him as if Dean was some kind of golden stuffed toy. His hand went into the younger boy's dark hair, rubbing it gently as he asked what was wrong in the softest voice he could muster._

_He kept his eyes locked onto the top of Sammy's head, trying to decipher what he was saying, trying to understand the broken words that came with the shaky voice. The only thing he could understand was the words Jo, which was what Sammy had taken to calling their aunt once he could talk. _

_When he finally looked up from Sam he was greeted with the sight of his uncle, looking as if the world had just ran him over, tears that matched Sammy's barely held back in those big eyes._

_With the words that left Uncle Mark's mouth, he forgot that today was his eleventh birthday and that Uncle Mark was suppose to teach him how to hold the hunting rifle after they'd all had cake. _

---

John had never considered the fact that his brother was more like him than he'd ever thought before. He had never considered that, once Joanna had passed away, he would fall the same way John had. It never once crossed his mind that just because it was a natural death the anger wouldn't be there.

He, himself, had taken to the bottle after Mary's death; finding his solace in the bitter burn of whatever alcohol he could find, the sting of cheap beer, the twist in his stomach gut as the whiskey hit an empty stomach. It had never once replaced the pain that the image of Mary brought, nor had it effectively replaced the love. It simply reduced the pain. He only chose to cut down after some little creature almost took his head because, to him, the world was spinning in circles.

It never occurred to him that his brother would choose the same thing, make the same mistake he had, and through all of the years that he had left his boys with Mark after Joanna's death he had never suspected that his brother had become an alcoholic.

How couldn't he have seen the facts that were laid out right in front of his nose when he could find even the most complicated connections between things?

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he removed the water filled bag from Dean's wrist, thankful that the swelling had gone down, before moving quietly to the sink to empty it and fill it from the bucket. Then he was back at his son's side, the three of them curled up together on the single bed in the room.

Tomorrow, tomorrow he would call the police from a payphone to let them know that Mark was tied up in the basement of his own home and then he would take his two children to the other end of America, as far away from here as possible; as far away from Mark as possible

Another glance down at his eldest son's battered face left him wondering how Mark could dare do this to Dean, his own flesh and blood.

TBC

Kay

16081856


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Darkened Hearts

Beta: Thanks to Stony.Angel for the Beta 3

John jerked awake sometime before dawn, echoes of Dean's whimper filling his mind. His body had already moved on its own, switching the lamp that rested beside them on and leaning over Dean before his mind could even register the fact that Dean was still sleeping, hands wrapped tightly around a pillow. It took him a few more moments of staring at his oldest boy to realize that Dean hadn't let out any sounds much less a whimper, that it was his dream. More like a memory than a dream. Looking down at Dean's sleeping form the events of that fateful day came back to him, invading his mind.

Mark hadn't been expecting him to visit; hell, he hadn't even thought to stop by until he realized how close to Kansas he was. He had called the previous week to say he'd be in to see the boys the following month. So no one was expecting him to be knocking on the door at nine just like he hadn't expected to find the door half open.

He had been to more than a few back road towns where people left their doors unlocked out of some misplaced sense of security. Lawrence wasn't some place with one measly general store and twenty churches though. So, when he came up to the open door and all the lights off in the living room behind it his first thought was of robbers.

He was expecting to see some doped up kid trying to carry out the T.V.; he was expecting hushed voices as they tried to find jewelry and cash; he was expecting his family to be out of the house.

He definitely wasn't expecting what he saw that night.

John's face screwed up into anger at the images that ran through his mind, a soft growl escaping from between his chapped lips. A moment later his eyes softened as he watched Sammy curl in closer around Dean who hadn't moved an inch since John laid him down in the motel's bed.

These were his boys.

His fingers moved to brush the damp hair off of Dean's check, noting that the swelling had thankfully gone down. The bruising however did its job in making the father's stomach clench tightly. The dim light that shone from the lamp made the two boys look younger than they were, too dull to show the changes that came with age. Right at that moment, he could clearly see the two young boys that had been hurt by their mother's death. Even Sammy, who didn't resemble the baby he had been, was easily put back into the last memory John had with Mary before the fire; he could see himself with Dean in his arms while his wife put Sammy into his crib for the night.

His eyes darted around the room out of habit, looking for any thing he might have brought into the room even though he knew that he left everything in his car, too intent on getting a good look at Dean once they were safe, once his boys were safeat the time . There was nothing for him to pack so that left him to trying to wake the two and get them to his car. He was surprised that the three of them had actually slept with their shoes on but that worked for him right now, no chance of losing one of their socks before he had a chance to get them some clothes.

He picked up Sammy first, forcing to keep his laughter to a quiet chuckle as the young boy kept a death hold around the pillow John had forced his head on; he couldn't let Sammy sleep on top of Dean with that kind of bruising. Getting the door to the room open and then the car door was a bit tricky with Sammy's body pressed tightly up against his chest and a rather large pillow making him almost not fit in his arms. He felt the same in his arms as he did when he was a baby though, perfectly melding into the nooks and cranny's of his arms and easily finding the perfect position to make the whiskers on John's neck tickle.

He felt the same as always, innocent and needing.

John was ashamed at the state of his car, the backseat was littered with his own bags full of clothes and papers while trash littered the floor and seats, ranging from old newspapers to cheap coffee cups. He'd clean it out in another city, later. Right now he wanted to keep the two as close to him as possibly. Close enough so that no one else could ever hurt them, close enough so that Mark couldn't touch either of them.

---

_Joanna leaned against the doorframe, one hand resting against it as well and the other on Sammy's shoulder as she grinned down at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes when she whispered softly, "Dean doesn't like to wake up in the mornings anymore; I'd wake him last but we need him to help wake up Uncle Mark."_

_She watched as the shaggy haired little boy caught onto her meaning, grinning widely despite the tiredness she could see behind his soft eyes. She couldn't help but laugh at the way Dean jerked awake the instant Sammy landed on him, tangling the both of them in the sheets._

_Hands wrapped around her waist causing a small squeak to escape from her, "You're suppose to be resting." Mark whispered, kissing the side of her face gently as he watched the two boys struggle on the bed._

_She chuckled softly, leaning back into him, finding it more comfortable than leaning against the door frame in her weakened state, "You're still supposed to be asleep so Sammy and I can surprise you."_

"_Oh?" Dean asked as he looked up, a wide grin on his face as he held Sammy's head under his arms._

"_Yes Mr. Lazy Bones, Sammy cooked breakfast for everyone."_

"_Yeah," Sammy agreed, slipping out from Dean's hold, tickling him slightly, "Auntie Jo's supposed to be resting and I woke up to make her breakfast but she was already awake so she just supervised me. She made sure it would taste good."_

_Mark grinned widely at Sam before he loosened his hold on Joanna and rushed over to the two boys, laughing as he got a hold of Dean who was still basically trapped under his sheets. He had the small boy bending over in laughter as he tried to escape the fingers that were tickling him._

_Moments later Joanna had gone over to Sammy and soon the two of them were ready to jump Mark and _save _Dean._

_---_

"_What were you thinking, Dean?" Mark demanded, throwing the can of spray paint the officer had handed him when he had brought Dean back to the house into the trashcan, his hand gripping the edge of the countertop. _

_His eyes glanced over at Joanna for a moment, taking in her already tired form, but he couldn't catch her eyes, they were locked on Dean, a small frown filling her pretty features. His eyes fell on Dean once again as he shrugged, looking down at his hands that were tinted blue. _

"_No, Dean, that's not an answer. Why_ _did you do this?" Mark repeated, reaching out to grip Dean's chin lightly, forcing the young boy to look up at him. "Why did the police have to bring you home?"_

"_I dunno," Dean answered quietly, his eyes darting downwards despite Mark's attempt to get him to look at him. _

_Dean wasn't the type of kid to back away from anything. Since he was little he was always one to own up to what he had done and why even if it was a bad excuse and that was why Mark didn't understand why he was acting ashamed now. "Dean, we want an answer," Joanna spoke up from beside him, "You know exactly why you were vandalizing the building."_

"_Yes you do," Mark said with a sigh, shaking his head before moving to the backdoor, "You're going to mow the yard, weed your Aunt's garden… and any other yard work I can find for you; also, you're only going to leave this house to go to school and that's it.Maybe then you can remember why you decided to do such a stupid thing."_

_Mark was actually surprised when Dean got up without an argument or even without his patented rolling eyes. The adults watched him walk out the door, head still hung low, and go to the shed where all the equipment was held. "He's a good boy," Mark said softly, keeping his eyes locked on Dean's small form._

"_Do you think it's…" Joanna started to say, her voice soft and sad and Mark could see her clearly in his head, as if he had turned to look at her, her head bent down, staring at her own hands just as Dean had._

"_Could be," Mark spoke softly, "But John and I, we were hell on wheels at his age. I can't tell you how many times our mother had to chase after us with a paddle."_

_Joanna laughed softly, shaking her head at him, "The both of you are still trouble; I can't take my eyes off of you for a moment."_

_The grin that fell on his face was wide and big, feigning innocence. "Maybe we'll all get lucky and Sammy will come out as a good, nerdy kid who doesn't get any until he's thirty."_

"_You wouldn't wish that!" Joanna gasped, laughter filtering through the air._

_The just sat there in the kitchen, watching as Dean worked and little Sammy trailed after him, trying to help him even though Dean was glaring at him and telling him to go inside. The both of them could see that he had accepted his punishment and wasn't willing to let Sam do it for him, if only to spare himself more trouble. _

_---_

John's eyes fell back onto his two sons; Dean leaning against the window, his bruised face resting on the pillow he had taken from the hotel. Sammy was leaning up against Dean, thin arms wrapped around both Dean and the other pillow. He was glad he had paid cash for that room because he wasn't sure if any of the cards he held could deal with the outrageous price they put on their pillows.

Neither of the boys had really woke up when their father moved them to the car; he had expected Dean to wake up in shock when he had picked up the teenager but for someone who claimed to be a light sleeper, the boy just wrapped his arms around John, not even opening his eyes once. To be honest, John had been hoping he would wake up because carrying the teenager to the car was no easy task. He didn't complain though, just pushed down the worry that bubbled in his stomach and went to snatch the other pillow.

He knew that he should try to wake Dean, knew that it would at least kill the worry that had found a permanent space in his stomach but he felt selfish; he couldn't deal with Dean being awake, not so soon. Not right now. There wasn't a thing he knew about this situation; he'd never been trained to deal with abused children and he didn't know where to start.

He needed all the time to figure out how exactly to move ahead from this, how to help both Dean and Sammy deal with this without causing them anymore harm than both him and Mark had dealt onto the two young souls.

So, he drove and drove without a destination in mind while trying to remember if he had over heard any conversations dealing with this type of thing or who he could call, who would be able to offer the correct advice.

And between each thought was the question of if he could ever salvage the relationship with his sons. If they'd ever be able to trust him again because this, what they went through, was as much as his fault as it was Mark's.

TBC

A/N: Thank you all for your great reviews; I'm glad you liked this.

Kay

-2038


	3. Chapter 3

Top of Form

Darkened Hearts 3

It was closer to eleven when John decided to pull over into a large parking lot. As soon as the car was off he was spinning in his seat so he could see both of his boys straight on rather than in a sideways glance. Neither of them had woken up yet so he hadn't had the mind to pull over and eat; now his stomach was tight and moaning in protest and he was more than sure his boys would be hungry as soon as they opened their eyes. All teenage boys were bottomless pits

For a short moment he actually considered not waking the two boys up. Their bodies were relaxed and peaceful as they slept, had it not been for the visible bruise marring Dean's otherwise flawless skin he could have convinced himself that this was just one of those ordinary trips to some restaurant after Joanna would keep all three of them up as she recalled embarrassing stories about her, John and Mary.

He had actually gotten mad at her the first time she had spoken about Mary, telling Dean and Sammy about the pictures that she had been shown from Mary's teenage years. She had only managed to get as far as explaining how awkward Mary had been when she was a little older than Dean's age before John had demanded to see her in the kitchen; thinking back on it, he knew it had sounded more like an order and he was surprised she hadn't slapped him on the spot.

No, that had waited until they were safely in the kitchen and after he had roughly blurted out that she had no right to tarnish Mary's memory by pointing out her flaws. It hadn't come out the way he had meant it, not even close but to this day he couldn't remember what exactly he had meant to say. He had regretted saying it even before her open palm had connected with his shamed cheek.

Hell feared a woman's wrath.

To this day, he would swear she had him standing at attention in that cold kitchen for hours. She had gone from ranting about him ordering women around to the fact that Mary was their mother and they had the right to see the real her so they could see what parts of themselves they got from her straight back to the issue of how dare he use his military voice with her.

When she was finally done with him, her hands resting on her hips and Mark standing in the doorway, looking torn between being scared, sympathetic or amused, she turned around with a self-satisfied sound and made her way back to the boys.

It had taken him forever to move, taken Mark finally going for amusement and joking telling him to 'Stand at ease, solider.' After taking the glare that John shot him in stride, Mark had moved to the coffee pot and poured them each a cup before speaking again, "you know she's right. Even when she's wrong she's right but this time she is right. I know you miss Mary and, by God, I know you still love her but let the boys get to know her other than 'your angel of a wife'; let them know her as 'Mary'. Joanna's not going to tell them anything bad. I'll talk to Joanna if you really don't want her to bring Mary up but I think it's good for the boys to hear about their mother."

John had nodded his head at that, waiting a while before daring to go within eyesight of Joanna. He arrived just in time to hear her telling Dean that he was just like his mother and would, one day, be just as handsome as she was beautiful. Then Mark had come swooping in to swing Sammy up in his arms, telling him, "unless you're just like Daddy and look like a mean, old grizzly bear," causing loud giggles from Sammy to fill the room.

How could his sweet, loving brother turn into something that could raise a hand to the boys he had loved so much? With a shake of his head John forced the thought from his mind; he could wonder about that later, right now it was time to feed his boys and he needed to wake them up without causing them to jerk away in fear.

He never wanted to see that fear in their eyes again. The image of Sammy's wide eyes as Dean hid him behind his back would forever be forged into his mind.

Gently, he reached out to touch Sammy's shoulder, lightly shaking it as he whispered, "wake up, son."

It didn't work as well as he planned; only causing the young boy to grunt and curl in tighter against Dean. Another gentle shake and Dean was the one waking up, eyes fluttering open gently before mumbling softly.

"Dad?"

---__

Three men stood in the cemetery alone, staring, watching as the rough dirt was thrown onto the white casket that stared back up at them, blinding each of them for a moment. All the others who had come to her funeral, to give their final good-byes and prayers, had long left, traveling to the reception that Joanna's mother had planned. Smiles and quiet tears would be served up there in porcelain dishes, perfectly white plates, free of any imperfections just as Joanna had been now that she had passed away.

Mark didn't want any of that though; didn't want nor did he feel that he needed their quiet sadness. He was far from ready to move onto smiles, not while his insides were screaming, pleading, for him to wake up from this horrible nightmare. He stayed because he could not bare to see even the smallest of smiles.

And here, here in this lost place where everyone came to rest, there would be no smiles because those who visited were still in mourning and tears would glisten their eyes as they, like Mark, struggled to accept this reality that was just too wrong.

So, Sam and Dean stood by Mark's side, each gripping the others hand as if Death would pull them apart at any given moment. They stood there, stock still and silent for hours, until their hands were numb and the thought of ever becoming warm was like a vague dream from years ago. Stood there, looking over Joanna's grave, until Mark's large, comforting hand rested on their shoulders, pulling each of them from thoughts that ran rampage in their minds and led them to the car.

There was only one stop, one Dean could never remember stopping at before, he kept silent though, keeping his curiosity locked tight inside because he wasn't too sure he wanted to know what that bottle was, wrapped tightly in it's thin paper bag. No, he didn't want to know so he kept his head hung low.

Waiting to see where Sam and his lives were now heading, without the comforting support of Joanna… a woman who did her best to play the part of their mother but to make sure that they knew all about their real mother.

That night, locked safely in Sam's room, they listened to the crashing from the living room; heard the cursing and the tears and more than once Dean wished he could just shut the world out. He couldn't though so he just wrapped his arms around his younger brother and kept him close while the young boy cried. He didn't complain when Sam's chubby fingers dug into his arm.

No, he just comforted and maybe that would be enough to comfort himself as well.

---

For a moment John did nothing except stare in shock, his body frozen by the scene that continued to play out before him. It was almost surreal in nature, seeing the way Dean's body shook, like the bottom string of a bass, deep in its pain and fear.

Within moments he had realized that Sam was no where to be seen and Dean was the boy on the floor, staring up at the man who use to be family with wide eyes. One hand was holding his upper body up while the other rested over his lap, fingers twitching as he fought off the urge to wrap it around his stomach.

He watched in stunned horror as Mark pulled his fist back once more, sneering at the collapsed boy before him. Instincts were the only thing that got John moving, the instinct to protect his children, because his mind could not understand the events that were playing out before him. With one swift step his hand was wrapped around Mark's wrist, preventing him from striking his child again.

From this view he could see the opposite side of Dean's face, red and swollen, beginning to bruise. He had never been good at controlling his anger; none of the various techniques Mary had taught him years ago had done anything to cure his temper so neither him nor Mark were surprised when his free fist had connected with Mark's face, glazed eyes merely staring back at him.

He had Mark down on the ground, sporting marks that would soon become bruises, before he knew what was happening. The only thing that managed to pull his mind away from the anger that was coursing through his veins like red hot fire, similar to the burn straight vodka produced as it went down, was the sound of Dean's calling his name and telling Sammy to go back to the closet. He was off of Mark and kneeling in front of his two boys; his hands frantically touching both of them as if they could heal the bruises that littered their hearts, their souls. Fingers brushed against Dean's cheek, Sam's chin. Trying to convince himself that they were okay… would be okay. "What happened?" He asked, his voice soft and weary.

Did he really want to know? Did he even care? Some part deep inside of him hoped, prayed, that neither of them answered because it wasn't important. He knew it wasn't important; nothing could call for the bruises that covered Dean's swollen face… and by the way Dean's once confident eyes darted to the floor or the way Sam's arms tightened around his big brother's waist despite the whine of pain that managed to escape Dean's tight lips, this wasn't the first time an incident like this had occurred.

His hands calmed themselves as they gently touched his oldest son's jaw, urging him to look up again, "Doesn't matter," he mumbled softly, his eyes narrowing at the blank look that returned to him. A soft sigh escaped him before he turned to Sammy, "go get your shoes on; quickly son, we're leaving."

His touch was more gentle than frantic this time, trying to judge the extent of the injuries, sliding his hand down to the waist that was now gently being protected by Deans arm. The tips of his fingers gently pressed the flesh under the T-shirt; his eyes darkened as Dean jerked away from his gentle touch, eyes squeezing shut.

He moved to pull Dean into a hug before he noticed that Dean's eyes were no longer locked onto the floor nor where they locked on his face, no, his eyes were looking past him to were he had left Mark lying. He watched as Sammy ran to Dean's side, watched as Dean instinctively pushed the younger boy behind him.

He was up and moving once more like an animal in the middle of a hunt, stalking up to Mark… he locked Mark in the once place it would take the drunk a while to break free; in the basement. He'd have to first maneuver himself up the steep stairs and then figure out how to break open the thick door without causing himself to fall back down the stairs.

He didn't warn Dean as he moved and maybe he should have because the way he stiffened up when John's hands went under his armpits to lift him up literally tore John's heart in half. His lips moved to apologize, wishing he could take the fear from those tired eyes but no sound was allowed to escape as Dean's arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace, pressing his head into John's chest hard enough to make him begin to worry about the bruising on Dean's face. He didn't try and pull away though, no, he just brought his large hand up to rest in Dean's tangled hair, hoping that the soothing action would relax his son somewhat. Somehow.  
  
---

A soft sigh escaped from his eldest son, who had chosen the corner in a booth that would keep his bruised face hidden from everyone else except the wall, and John's eyes moved to take him in. It wasn't that he looked broken so much that he looked resigned, as if he had given in to whatever fate decided to give him.

Sammy, who wasn't his little Sammy any more, had already eaten half of his food but Dean had merely managed to move it around while his head rested on one of his hands.

John's eyes closed for a moment, trying to forget the reassuring smiles that Dean gave Sammy anytime the younger one would glance towards his brother. He honestly despised the way Dean wore that strong façade, not letting even the smallest ounce of fear to escape from his darkened eyes if he knew anyone was looking.

"Dean," He spoke softly, as if any loud noise would shatter their fragile world, "everything's okay now."

"I know, Dad, I know."

-2301

TBC

A/N: Mmm… so this chapter took a long, long time to write. Each section of this chapter began as if they were their own chapters, their own story, included with the long wait of me trying to figure out how to start them and I've probably murdered a whole tree in the process of this, tossing away so many beginnings.

Though, I am proud of this chapter so I hope everyone else is at least pleased with it as well.

There will be one more part to this story, an epilogue of sorts (since the flashbacks have caught up with present time). It will break the format that I've picked up for this story and I guess you'll just have to wait and see how I tie this all up because, in all honesty, this could be the end but I've got one more place to take this which will, hopefully, be a better ending than this.

Thank you all for your reviews; I greatly appreciate them.


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